The Warrior Queens
by RMVthewriter
Summary: Robbert Baratheon made a choice that changed the face of the Seven Kingdoms as we knew it. The choice effected all the seven kingdoms and beyond, but one thing becomes clear in its wake. Women will fight, and women will rule. FIRST CHAPTER HAS BEEN REDONE. AGAIN.


**Before the Great Shift**

* * *

Balon Greyjoy bending the knee. That was all King Robert Baratheon had wanted for _years_. It should have been so easy. Everyone told him that crushing the rebellion would be simple, yet… Here he was. His army half the size, his brothers dead. The King took a sip of wine.

He was an excellent warrior. No one could deny that. But an excellent king? No. That much was clear.

Four million in debt. That's how deep in shit the crown was. One would think that being married to a Lannister would fill the pockets with gold more than being King ever could, but his arrogance made him refuse Tywin's aid, and his pride only added to his mistakes.

With no Lannister fleet, the Greyjoys ruled the seas. Stannis found that out the hard way when the pirates sunk his ships with the Baratheon along for the ride. He never meant to sail, but Robert commanded his brother to do so for the glory of their house. No Stannis, no Tywin. Down two potential commanders within the first months of the war. And yet, it was not even the worst to come.

It was thought that the siege of Pyke would be the ending of the rebellion, but it was only the beginning. The Greyjoy army was outnumbered six to one at the battle, but they refused to let that fact phase them. Prince Maron led his troops with a viciousness previously unseen in the Greyjoy men. What a wonder a proper cause and an empty stomach did to bring men to their true potential.

That was the first turning point of the war. Robert nearly ordered his army to stand its ground and foolishly continue the lost fight, but then the King nearly lost Ned in that battle and he ordered the retreat. The experience was a loud wake up call for the Baratheon, but still, not loud enough.

Renly, in Stannis' place, was given command of the troops of House Tully and was charged to protect the Riverlands and most importantly, the Twins. His first battle last two minutes and ended with the surrender and slaughter of all the troops, including Renly himself. For a majority of the war, the Greyjoys had the Twins, a maker of the Throne's failure in battle. Robert should have known Renly was never right for battle, much less command. But as always, pride, this time in the blood of his house, had clouded his mind.

The second turning point came at Riverrun, where Ser Barristan Selmy valiantly led eight hundred men from there to the Twins, cutting down all Greyjoy scum in his way. It was said that sheer might of his army was so powerful, that they cut a road into the earth, now known as the Path of Barristan. Once the knight arrived at the Twins he had not eight hundred, but eighteen hundred men to fight, gaining the extra support with each town he liberated Greyjoy occupation. Barristan died in the ensuing battle, but was able to secure a decisive victory for the Throne.

Finally, the war came to and end at the second siege of Pyke, where 'Prince Maron the Great,' as they called him, was finally slain by Ned, who lost a hand in the process. With the death of his second son and annihilation of his forces, Lord Balon Greyjoy capitulated to the Throne and gave up his only remaining son as a ward. Three whole years. And it was finally over.

And that's where Robert was now. On the outskirts of the feast held in honor of their victory and the deaths that came with it. He downed his wine completely.

"Pace yourself, my friend. We have a long night ahead of us." Ned chuckled. Robert turned to face the man who fought two wars for him. Ned clutched a glass of wine in the one hand he had left. Fresh scars littered his face and he walked with a limp. "I've never known you to be one who hides himself from a party. What's wrong, Robert?" The King sighed. Ned could always read him like a book. But he could return the favor, which was exactly why he had already made his choice.

"I want you to go to King's Landing after this with your family." Robert commanded. Ned tilted his head in confusion.

"Any reason, your grace?" The Baratheon took a deep breath.

"That is where the King of the Seven Kingdoms lives. Along with the royal family. Yes?" The Stark nodded silently, unsure of what to say. Robert continued. "I have made plans for you to become King in my place." Ned's eyes widened, and Robert stared down his long time friend. Then the soldier gave a laugh.

"I think you've had too much already! Tell me, how much did you have to drink to think of these preposterous notions? One cast? Two?" Robert continued to stare and Ned's smile fell. "You're serious. Aren't you?"

"I'm as serious as serious can be, Ned. The ravens have already been sent. Everything has been taken care of." The glass of wine hit the floor.

"You- Why would you do this?!" Robert looked away, in shame. Eddard Stark did not want to rule, and here his best friend was, forcing him to. The Stark did not want the power- never had- which was exactly why he was perfectly suited for it. Well, Robert fit that criteria too, but it took more than that to be a good ruler.

"When I went to war with Rhaegar, I didn't want his money or his power. All I wanted was Lyanna. I didn't want to rule over the Seven Kingdoms and deal with politics, I wanted to eat, sleep, piss, and fuck. When the title was thrust upon me, I was desperate. I thought, maybe having everything would heal the hole in my heart she left. I was mistaken." The royal usurper turned back around. "I am no king. This damn rebellion is a marker of that. It should have been easy! Hell, if I had just asked for the Lannisters' help, the war could have ended at the first siege. But I was arrogant, prideful. Even during the worst of it, I still did not yield to Tywin. Now look! You're a damn cripple, Ned. And I made you that way." Ned did not respond immediately, trying to process all that had been said. Eventually, he spoke.

"Even so. Why me?" Robert laughed.

"That's the easiest question you could have asked me. Many reason, so many reasons, but I'll give you two. One. You're the most honorable man in all the Seven Kingdoms. And with Ser Barristan gone, I'd being willing to bet my life on that claim. King's Landing is full of power hungry leeches and men that would kill a war hero like you for only a spot of gold. The kingdom needs you. You'll be able to sort them out."

"And the second point?" The stoic Stark asked, not betraying any emotions.

"You're my brother. More of a brother than those two in the grave ever were. If I had married Lyanna we would be bound by blood. I trust you more than anyone. And I know that you'll do more for the realm than I ever could."

"But a Stark must always be in Winterfell." Eddard pointed out, trying to wrap his mind around what his brother in arms was presenting to him.

"I already told you, we're brothers. I will be the Stark in Winterfell, as long as you allow it. It seems that House Baratheon isn't going to live up to much, the girl Shireen can rule the Stormlands. But House Stark? House Stark will be great. I feel it. I'll even take the Greyjoy boy from you."

"But your wife, and the Lannisters. They won't be pleased with this." Ned continued his rebuttals, to which the Baratheon just shook his head.

"Joffrey will marry Sansa when they come of age, and Tywin will be given the right to choose the next Hand of the King should Jon Arryn ever retire or dies. I said everything was taken care of. Did I not?"

"But-"

"Enough of the damn 'buts,' Ned! Tell me you accept." The Lord of Winterfell raised his head high, standing as tall as he could on one bad leg.

"I refuse. You, and House Baratheon, are the rightful holders of the Throne." Robert snarled at his brother's response.

"Damn it, Ned. I knew you would make things difficult, but I didn't want to do this. You always said you were a soldier. Well fine, here's your orders. You _will_ name me of the House Stark, you and your family _will_ go to King's Landing, and you _will_ become King and never give the title to any other family. That is my final order. Now do you want me to force you to King's Landing, or are you willing to go on your own terms?" Ned looked pained, but he bowed regardless.

"… As you wish, my Grace. Now you must excuse me, but I have a few ravens to send." Eddard hobbled away briskly and Robert sighed.

He was angry. That much was obvious. Ned did not want to be the King, probably even less than Robert wanted the title. But it was for the good of the Seven Kingdoms that the Baratheon shifted the power of the Throne to Starks. This would be his legacy- the only good he ever accomplished- considering everything else he did was horse shit.

Former King Robert Stark of Winterfell died of 'illness' only a year later.

* * *

 **The Fate of Eddard Stark**

* * *

Despite the tragic loss, King Eddard Stark ruled over the Seven Kingdoms justly and righteously. For seven years after Robert's death, he ruled without incident, turning King's Landing back into the glorious city it once was, not the shit hole it had become.

Surprisingly, the Lannisters made no moves, instead working peacefully with the Starks through power shift along with the the rest of the Lords. Ned was glad that his new extended family, The Stark-Lannisters of Winterfell and The Lannisters of Casterly Rock, held no ill will. The Lannisters were the ones he thought would give him the _most_ trouble, and with them quiet, the Throne had no true enemies. Kings certainly had worse starts, as they say.

Throne had no outside enemies, however, that did not mean that the Throne did not suffer from internal threats. Almost immediately after Eddard was crowned king, he became aware to the intense factionalism that split King's politics of Winterfell never came close to preparing him for this. People stabbed each other in the back for the most minor positions in Ned's government, and the Stark wasn't sure how to deal with it all. Finally, despite the advice of Varys and others in his small council, the King put his foot down. He would not play these games for the Throne.

Being the King of the realm had its perks, certainly. He had never wanted the position, but maybe while he had it, he could make things better for once. Eddard bent the politics to his will, cracking down on any intrigue he could. Of course, there was no reasonable way to get rid of _all_ the corruption of the city, but he did what he could. Within a year of his reign, Lord Baelish excused himself from political affairs, quoting 'Family Matters' as his excuse.

In terms of domestic affairs, Ned made his goal to befriend all houses of the seven kingdoms, no matter their allegiances or sides. His supporters called him The Gentle King, for the slow movement forced upon him in the war coupled with his friendly demeanor. Behind his back, they'd call him the King of Cripples, for his hand, obviously. Eddard didn't mind. The fate of his hand was just as much a part of his legacy as being king was. There was nothing he could do to make it otherwise.

With allies a plenty, and a lack of deceptions in the capital, the Seven Kingdoms prospered under eight long years of peace. Unfortunately for the Starks, and the rest of the realm, all good things come to an end when people lust for power in the shadows.

The Royal Family was halfway down the Path of Barrister when they were struck.

"Why do we always take the long way home, father?" Bran complained. Ned chuckled at his youngest son's question, sitting next to him and Robb, with Catelyn in front of him. The carriage bumped as the Royal Starks sat, waiting to return home from their annual trip to Winterfell.

"You ask this every year, Bran. _You_ tell me why we take the long way every year. Actually, remind me why we do this trip at all." Bran groaned, but recited his part.

"'The Stark family will travel all across the Seven Kingdoms in order to meet with all Lords and Ladies as well as reach out to the common folk so they know that their King cares.' Have I got it right?" He huffed.

"You forgot 'Royal.'" Sansa pointed out. "We're the Royal Stark family. Not the regular one at Winterfell."

"Why does it even matter? It's not like we're all Kings and Queens. It'll be Father, then Robb, then his son. There's nothing royal about us." Arya remarked from her place at the window.

"Maybe you're not. But I am." Sansa held her head tall, allowing Arya to 'bask in her royal greatness,' or something of the sort.

"More like a royal pain in my ass." Arya rolled her eyes. Sansa huffed indignantly and turned away from her sister.

"Enough fighting you two." Catelyn commanded. "The journey back is long enough without you being at each other's throats. You need to learn to love each other. Family is what holds the realm together, don't let anyone tell you otherwise." The King smiled and leaned over to give his wife a kiss, sealing the lesson for the girls.

Just then, the carriages stopped and the sound of a scuffle could briefly be heard. Instantly, Robb had his hand at his sword.

"We shouldn't be at the town yet… Why have we stopped moving?" Robb noticed as he looked to his father, who motioned to the door. They shifted their positions in the now cramped carriage. The girls and Bran were in the back while Robb and Eddard took the vanguard at the door. Ned looked to all his children.

"Stay here and stay quiet. I'll be right back." The Patriarch promised; the only promise he never fulfilled. Ned turned back to his eldest. "Come now." Cautiously, he opened the door with his one good hand and walked outside.

Night had only just dawned when the carriage was stopped. The torches that lines the small parade of soldiers still burned, having only been lit mere minutes ago. It took a lot to stop the King's caravan- neither the time of day nor the weather were able- making The King fear whatever awaited him. Even more fear hit his heart when he saw them with his own eyes. The King obviously traveled with his Kingsguard, an elite, but small, band of warriors, who were bound to the protection of their King. When he came out, all his men were dead; some with slit throats, some with their guts spilling, all gruesome. The attack had occurred so suddenly and viciously that some of the guard had not even managed to draw their weapons.

His eyes caught seven of the perpetrators, two blocking the horses from continuing down the road, and five to surround the carriage. They wore all black, hiding their identities. Whoever they were, they were strong enough- and insane enough- to take the King's own guard with ease. King Eddard Stark took a calming breath and stood tall.

"So you betray your king?" He looked to covered faces around him. They revealed nothing, yet the voice that next sounded gave him the impression of mad smiles on all of their faces.

"We do the opposite, in fact. Our king has told us to take your lives, so we do all he asks." The way the man spoke was strained, as if he was barely holding on to the sanity of being able to form coherent thoughts. Ned forced himself to ignore the anomaly.

"And who is his king of yours? What has he promised you?" At this the leader walked forward, closer to the King. Eddard held his ground. "I'm sure you know who you're trying to kill. This does not have to end in bloodshed. If you walk away now, there will be no consequence." The man shook his head violently. They were face to face at this point. Robb was clearly uneasy with how close the man was to his father, but Eddard knew he had no real choice. Even with his son armed, the old soldier knew that these criminals were in charge of the situation. All he could do was not back down.

"Our King has promised us eternal life. I welcome any consequence that comes of my actions. As for who he is…" The leader quickly pulled out a dagger and stabbed the King in the stomach. Immediately, Ned grunted, trying to hold in the pain. "The Lord of Darkness sends his regards." The last thing the Gentle King ever heard, whispered in his ear. The man ripped out the dagger, spilling the Stark's guts on the ground.

He did not hear his son's cries of distress, nor did he see the two mercenaries jump out of the woods and secure an escape for the Royal Carriage. No, the King heard deafening silence as he descended into death, his heart full of fear for his family.

* * *

 **The Fate of Brandon Stark**

* * *

Once the Royal Carriage arrived at the closest town, Riverrun, the realization finally hit. Eddard Stark was dead and Robb Stark, his heir, had been left behind by the carriage. Immediately, search parties were sent out, but the heir was not found. Neither were the two mercenaries that had helped the family escape. After months of no results, Robb was presumed dead and Brandon Stark was pronounced King of the Seven Kingdoms.

Bran's rule was weak at best. Out of only respect for the former King, the Kingdoms did not revolt. Had Bran ordered anything of them other than finding his brother, there might have been civil war.

As if to add insult to injury, Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, died of illness while visiting his family in the Vale that year. This meant that Tywin Lannister would be picking the replacement, and since they were a major suspect of planning the attack in the eyes of the Throne, tension was imminent.

To anyone with half a mind, it was no surprise when the Tywin Lannister appointed himself to Hand of the King. The old man caused quite a stir when half the Lannister army marched on the main gate to announce the arrival of the Hand. The stir almost became a full on riot when on Sansa's sixteenth Nameday, the Stark-Lannisters, save Myrcella, came to King's Landing unannounced to have Joffrey Stark-Lannister marry Sansa in accordance with King Robert Baratheon's final orders. The marriage was quick and painless; Surprising, considering the circumstances.

The year passed, and things calmed down. The Lannisters were not at the throats of the Starks after all, merely taking advantage of what had been offered to them: a place in the throne room as Hand of the King. Tywin had been Hand of the King before, so his experience was of great help to the newly crowned King Brandon. With the Lannister Patriarch's help and support, the kingdoms stopped their talks of rebellion and prospered once more.

And then the Boy-King killed himself.

Bran sat atop White Sword Tower, staring down at the ground below. The tower was the tallest of them all in the Red Keep, and the only way to make it to the top was to get past the Kingsguard. The only place a King should contemplate things was behind a full suit of guards was what Jon said- Bran had named him the Captain of his Kingsguard. The Stark child agreed wholeheartedly. Before he was named King, Bran was allowed to do things like climb and run and have fun, but now… His father and brother were dead. Bran was never meant to take the throne, he had a greater destiny in store… but not anymore. Whatever destiny had for him disappeared the day he put on the crown.

Once, on a trip to Winterfell, Bran fell while climbing and could not feel his legs. He was not a cripple, and could still use the limbs as perfectly well as anyone else… but he could not feel them. If someone stabbed him in the thigh he wouldn't even bat an eye. That night, and every night since then, the young Stark dreamt of three eyed ravens along with much, much more. Truly, this was something magical. But the first night the Boy-King was able to sleep after his father and brother's deaths, he had no more dreams. Not to mention, the feeling in his legs returned once more. And everyday since, no three eyed raven, no magic. Nothing.

But was it really worth it? Throwing himself off the tower to hit the floor below, surely dying? Bran had no purpose anymore. His destiny, taken from him. Should the Stark just let the dark embrace of death consume him like it had his father and brother? The raven seemed to think so. The bird stared at him, unblinking, waiting for Bran to make a move. He had followed it up the tower the moment he caught sight of it.

"My destiny is not the Throne. I realize that. But is it even anyone else's?" In response to his question, the raven took off, flying straight down the castle walls only to save itself right before hitting the ground, then flying away. "If you say so."

Some said the Boy-King was pushed unexpectedly by a member of the Kingsguard. Some said he lost a fight with an assassin and was thrown off. Only Bran knew the truth. There was no Lannister or any other person involved with his death. _He_ made the choice. _He_ pushed off the ledge. _He_ opened up the Throne for the destiny of another on _his_ own terms. _He_ choose to ignore the hand on his back, guiding him to his fate.

With no true male heirs left. Catelyn Stark was named Queen, sobbing the whole time.

* * *

 **The Fate of Catelyn Stark  
**

* * *

Troubling times called for drastic measures, and with the Lannisters going so far as to kill her son, these were truly troubled times. Catelyn fired the entire Queensguard and rehired completely new people on her crowning. Jon was furious that his position had been taken away, but her husband's bastard could whine all he wanted. It was only on Ned's insistence and love for the child that the boy was still near the Royal Family and not dead in a ditch somewhere on her order. But as the days ticked on, that family of hers grew smaller and smaller. Troubling times, drastic measures.

Petyr Baelish returned to King's Landing once again after she was crowned, and Catelyn ignored him completely. Petyr meant nothing to her, and if he tried to whisper in her ear _one more time_ she would have him executed. The man did have his uses, though. His spies and connections were hers to use at will, and with the constant danger poised to her family, she really worked them.

Catelyn could not able to make her move yet, but the queen was certainly preparing. The Lords and Ladies whispered behind her back, and Stark mother heard them all. She did not mind. They would pay for their crimes against her family… In time. First, Catelyn had to focus on her remaining children. She had to teach them the truth so that they could never fall for the lies of their enemies when she was gone.

"Don't trust them. _Any_ of them. Not even their cousins and their bastards. All of them would stab you in the back given the chance." Catelyn warned her two remaining children in their private quarters. Sansa seemed to be latching onto every word. Arya… Not so much. The wild Stark played with her sword, not even looking up. "Pay attention, Arya. You'll do good to heed my words."

"The Lannisters didn't kill Bran." Catelyn and Sansa stared at Arya. The wolf sighed and continued. "It doesn't even make sense that they would. Bran wasn't even of age yet. They had plenty of time to do things the subtle way, maybe poison his drink or something of the sort. Throwing the King from a tower is not subtle. The Lannisters may hate us, but they aren't stupid." Catelyn glared at her youngest daughter.

"What are you trying to suggest? That the Lannisters are innocents? That they deserve the Throne?" Arya shook her head in frustration.

"I'm _suggesting_ that you're being overly paranoid."

"Paranoid?!" The Queen was affronted. "Is it paranoia to have a family of murders under guard at all times? Is it paranoia that I replaced the Queensguard when they failed their duties to protect King Bran? Is it-" Arya cut her mother off, standing up.

" _Yes_! That's _exactly_ what paranoia is! There's no proof that the Lannisters killed Bran. I loved my brother, and I have devoted myself to finding who murdered him just as much as I devoted myself to finding Robb! The Lannisters simply do not have a proper motive against him."

"And you failed in both cases!" Catelyn hissed. "The Lannisters killed my husband. The Lannisters killed my boys. I will make sure the debt is repaid."

"Do you even hear yourself? If you continue like this, they'll be calling you 'The Mad Queen' just like the Targaryens." Catelyn's face went red with anger.

"How dare you?!" Viciously, the Stark mother backhanded her daughter before the girl could get away. "If you think that the Lannisters are innocent, I cannot stop you. But no daughter of mine will _ever_ defend their honor. One day the whole realm will know never to trust a blond."

"Or maybe they'll known never to trust a redhead." Another smack sent came Arya's way, but this time, the little warrior was prepared and blocked the blow.

"Get out! Get out! Leave and don't come back until you hate those damn Lannisters just as much as I do!"

"What-"

"I mean it!" Catelyn raved. "I banish you, Arya Stark, and strip you of your name until you admit that the Lannisters killed your family! Now leave me!" Arya took a long look at her mother, at the woman she'd become. Once upon a time, the youngest daughter of Ned Stark had looked up to her mother. While they disagreed on her being a proper Lady, Catelyn was still a loving woman, and an even more loving mother.

But now… Grief had taken her to madness. How could she claim to be looking out for her daughters when she practically banished one from the Red Keep? Vaguely, Arya wondered at what time did her mother finally fall? Was there any one time at all? Did Bran's death push her over the edge, or was it building, slowly, until she was able to banish her daughter without a second thought?

Without a word, Arya exited the room. Catelyn looked back to her remaining daughter, who hadn't said a word. The queen leaned in close and kissed Sansa's forehead. "Your sister has fallen into darkness, and I cannot save her. You are this family's last hope, so listen to me closely. Never trust a Lannister."

* * *

Considering the royal family no longer ventured outside the capital to discuss the problems each house faced, the Queen decided it was only just to hold a meeting once a year for all the Lords and Ladies from across the Kingdoms to come together and discuss issues at King's Landing. And considering that it was those same the Lords and Ladies who had betrayed King Eddard Stark and plotted against the Throne, the Queen decided it was only just to blast their meeting place, the Sept of Baelor, to smithereens with wildfire. And once that was done, the Queen decided it was only just to order all soldiers under her command to kill anyone in King's Landing with blond hair or the name Lannister, to truly root out the evil from the realm.

The city was in flames within the hour.

From her seat on the Iron Throne, Catelyn wiped her hands absentmindedly. Petyr's blood stained her dress, but she didn't much care. Her childhood friend was a Lord like all the rest, and his time had come. Today was the day the realm was purified. Petyr had served his purpose, and was rewarded appropriately.

As she sat in the empty throne room, the Stark mother pondered to herself questions like, 'was her family watching her from above?' and 'was Sansa doing her job?" To the last question, Catelyn knew the answer. Of course she was. Out of her three children, Sansa was always the most obedient. Three children, right? Robb, Sansa, then Bran… Why did the Queen keep getting the feeling like there was something she was missing? No matter. There was no point in dwelling on things she did not know.

Just then, the doors to the throne room were pushed opened, and a girl walked through. The girl was short, yet looking to be about seventeen. She had short brown hair, giving her a boyish look that was further emphasized by the bloodied sword she carried. Judging by the ragged leathers the stranger wore, she was a peasant girl.

"Why are you here girl? Who let you in?" Catelyn addressed the girl, who kept a steady pace towards the Throne.

"Are your eyes failing you, or are you just that far gone?" The peasant replied. The Queen was taken aback.

"Is that how you speak to your ruler?!" The girl shook her head.

"Considering the amount of people you're killing in the streets, I don't think you earn the title 'your grace.'" The girl continued to rebut.

"How dare you!" The girl was at the base of the Throne now, looking up at Catelyn. Her blue eyes shown with sadness, but the Queen didn't focus on that, instead choosing to focus on the ever nearing sword the girl held. "What is it you want?" Catelyn tried to take a more cordial stance, based on the bloody weapon. The girl simply tilted her head.

"You really don't remember me, do you?"

"I've never seen you before in my life. And if I have, you weren't of any note." Catelyn insulted, her cordial ness quickly slipping away due to the girl's insolence. The peasant frowned.

"Let it be known that I never intended for this to happen… It was the only way." She insisted. Catelyn's eyes went wide, she pressed herself against the Throne.

"Guards, kill her!"

"Don't bother. They're all dead."

"Kill her!"

"It shouldn't have been this way. _You_ made it this way."

"Guards!"

"Goodbye, Catelyn Stark."

"Guar-"

"Forgive me, Mother." Stabbed in the stomach- just like her husband- Catelyn Tully Stark succumbed to the darkness, never realizing who her killer truly was.

Arya would mourn her passing.

* * *

 **The Fate of Sansa Stark  
**

* * *

Sansa stared at her child in its crib. He had blue eyes like his mother, and when she focused solely on that, the baby seemed so cute. But eventually, Sansa would have to look at the hair. _Blond_ hair. The hair of traitors and killers.

Mother had prepared her for this day. Telling Sansa that the deed would be extremely hard to do. Yet, as she reached down to the baby, knife in hand, she had no qualms- no second thoughts- as the Queen assured her that she would. The Stark's heartbeat sped up. If anything, she found the whole prospect rather exciting! She raised the dagger high.

"If I let you live, you would grow to kill me. Today, the Stark's _repay_ the debt." A downwards swing. A blood splatter. A mad smile. Suddenly, the door opened, and Sansa turned around quickly- caught in the act.

"Sansa, my dear, how is the ba-" Joffrey stood still, mid sentence, staring at his wife. She was right in front of him, wearing a wide grin that was getting bigger by the second. Her hand was buried deep in his stomach. He tried to make a sound, but all he could do was cough up blood. She pulled her hand out and the red liquid of life came pouring. Joffrey fell to the ground, dead. Two down, dozens more to go. Lucky for Sansa, some were sleeping in her surrounding rooms.

This would be easy. This would be _fun_.

The city burned in the distance as she skipped from room to room, ending everyone inside. At first, it was the blonds and Lannisters- but at some point, she stopped caring who it was. Old ladies, children, babies. They were all slain by her hand. And, oh how _fun_ it was.

"Stand down, Princess Sansa." A voice called out as she went to move to yet another unsuspecting bedroom. Sansa turned quickly, her smile fading. Challenging her progress to the next room was a man with curly black hair wearing some leather clothes. He spoke with a Braavosi accent and held a thin sword to her.

"Who are you? Are you a Lannister? Because I'd _like_ it if you were."

"So you could kill me in my sleep? No, Princess, I'm not a Lannister. I am, in fact, here to stop your evil deeds." Sansa gained a wicked smile.

"Good luck." With that, she charged, dagger in hand. The man made no moves to block or dodge until the last second, where he sidestepped and held out his leg, tripping her to the floor. Sansa scrambled to pick the dagger back up, but the man got to it first.

"If you're gonna use a weapon. You should know how to use it. Killing children doesn't make you an expert at fighting." He lashed out with his needle of a weapon.

Darkness, yet… Not complete darkness. No, not darkness at all.

Just raven blackness.

* * *

 **The Fate of Robb Stark**

* * *

He didn't die. Surprisingly. Though the eldest Stark Son certainly thought he would be killed for a long while after the carriage was attacked. The two mercenaries who helped his family's carriage escape- by the names of Bronn and Brienne- made it clear that he wasn't simply 'free to go' after their services for his family. Bronn disarmed him almost immediately after the final bandit was killed, binding his hands in chains, and no promise of the Crown's riches convinced either merc to abandon their mission. They didn't tell him anything about where they were taking him, just that he was wanted alive. This was repeated to him just about every time he asked.

"I don't know what he wants. I just know I'm getting paid extra for bringing you there." That was what the man, Bronn, said. "Not to mention, any gold I could get from the Crown was lost once I knocked the blade outta your hand."

"My lord is… Honorable… He will not harm you. I think…" The woman, Brienne, wasn't much help either.

The group was on the road for a while. So long, in fact, that Robb was almost certain that they didn't actually know where they were going. In the year that every man search for him, they would knock the prince out every time a search party was near. Eventually, Robb just stopped the pointless effort of trying to call out, and only then did they let him have his restraints taken off. That year they walked north- _Very_ far north. Almost to the wall, in fact. They went all the way from Riverrun to Last Hearth, or, more accurately, the outskirts of it. _At_ Last Hearth, Bronn walked into town while Brienne stayed back to guard the Stark, presumably talked to someone, and walked out of the town with a bunch of cash, heading back south in the other direction.

It took a year and a half to walk all the way to Dorne. To _Dorne_. During that time, though, Robb thought he got to know his captors a little better. For instance, Bronn was getting paid _a lot_ of money for doing this, or so he loved to mutter. And Brienne was loyal to a fault. That was pretty much it. They would occasionally talk about their past, but never used any specific terms and certainly never mentioned anything about their employment. Occasionally, he'd get snippets of information from Bronn when he got drunk- such as Brienne coming from Tarth- but the mercenary woman was never drunk and shut him up quickly.

Robb had long since quit trying to run from the hired pair. They would always find him and kill whoever the Stark had come in contact with. The prince couldn't keep letting innocent people die for him- his father wouldn't have.

When they _finally_ arrived at Dorne, the unthinkable happened. Bronn walked into Hellholt, came out with a bunch more cash, and started the group north again! This walk was relatively briefer than the last, only being three quarters of a year long, but that didn't justify the walk to Robb in the slightest. This time, they stopped outside of Harrenhal, leading the eldest son of Ned Stark into a little cottage. The cottage had little of note in it, aside from a trap door, which was not something Robb saw everyday. He descended down the passageway and walked for what seemed to be miles in Bronn's torchlight before they finally made it to a small cavern, decorated with gadgets, weapons, and all other sorts of things. There was only one man in this cavern, and when they approached, he turned from his workbench to greet them immediately.

He had black hair and was deathly pale, wearing a black robe around his figure. The moment he saw Robb, he smiled and held out his hand.

"Robb Stark. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm Ramsay. Ramsay Snow."

* * *

 **The Fate of Arya Stark  
**

* * *

When she was banished from King's Landing, Arya's initial plan was to sail for Braavos in search of her old weapon's instructor and good friend, Syrio Forel. The man had taught Arya the basics of sword fighting and also introduced her to her main fighting style of Water Dancing. Unfortunately, the Braavosi man had been kicked out of the Red Keep once Bran was crowned and Catelyn found out what Arya had _actually_ been doing all those years.

Before she managed to leave the city, however, two men caught up to her. The first was Jon Snow, her favorite brother- Despite what her mother said about him. Jon had lost his purpose after Catelyn kicked him from the Kingsguard, and what better way to once more find his purpose in life than a voyage to Essos with his favorite sister? Arya couldn't be happier for the company.

The second man was Varys, surprisingly. While seemingly not having a _true_ reason for abandoning the city, he asked to join the pair and suggested that they instead sailed for Pentos instead of Braavos. The would give no more than that he had friends in Pentos and someone he wanted them to meet. Arya allowed the change of plans, for Pentos was already on the way to Braavos anyway. A banished princess, a fired Kingsguard knight, and a former small council member. They certain made an interesting group.

The voyage took a good few months, but the winds were in their favor, and the journey was met with no delays. Being stuck on a ship with only two other people you really knew for three months was wearing, but damn if it didn't bring people closer together. When there's no way to make any new stories, the time passes by recounting old that was exactly what she and Jon did. If the bastard had any secrets from Arya before the voyage, he _certainly_ didn't now. Varys, however… He kept his distance. The Spider occasionally gave the children of Ned Stark tidbits from his past, but no more than that. The former princess could say that she knew Varys slightly better, but in terms of trusting him? She was still on the fence.

When the company arrived to Pentos, Arya was greeted by a familiar face. Syrio Forel. He told his protégé that as soon as he had heard of her banishment, he made his way to where she would end up in Essos. When Arya reasonably asked how he could have possibly known where she was heading in Essos, he merely smiled and left it at that. The Stark's party of three became a party of four, and she was going to need every last one of them.

Before she could even have a proper bath on shore or head to wherever Varys wanted her to go, Arya was summoned, violently, to the ruler of Essos along with her companions. While not one for politics- especially international- Arya was well aware of the uniting of Essos by one person, but she had not expected to conqueror right away. This ruler was a one, 'Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, of the blood of Old Valyria, Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi Warrior of the Dothraki, Breaker of Chains, and Queen of all of Essos.'

The first meeting was a quaint one, merely a welcome to the city. Daenerys merely needed to make sure that this 'princess' of the Iron Throne did not pose a threat to her realm. But despite the success of the meeting, the Dragon Queen kept Jon. Arya didn't know why, but it happened anyway. She waited a few hours, then a few more, and soon a few days, then weeks, but Jon didn't return to them. While Varys assured the Stark that Jon was completely fine with the Queen according to his spies, and insisted that they should go on without Jon to meet Varys' friends, Arya refused. She could not continue on anywhere until her brother was returned to her. That was a simple fact.

Daenerys refused her request for a meeting, as she had the first seven times. Eventually. though, Arya became sick of waiting and needed to take matters into her own hands. She busted into the Queen's own chambers and… _Ran_. Even afterwards, Arya refused to recall what she had saw in that room nor did she explain her sudden need to escape Essos for King's Landing once more. Varys protested, but he didn't have much of an option. After the stunt Arya pulled, they were welcome in Pentos no longer.

Arya came back to King's Landing to warn her family, to warn the entire kingdom, that a much bigger threat to the east was coming, but princess arrived to late. The city was already in flames and innocent blood was already slain. The second youngest Stark needed to act _now_.

She took credit for the murder of Queen Catelyn and named herself Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, trying to unite the realm in an effort to stand against the doom to the east, but the Seven Kingdoms had other ideas.

"What's our status?" Queen Arya addressed her small council- merely consisting of the Captain of the Queensguard, Syrio, and the Hand of the Queen, Varys. In the weeks following the Purge of the Lannisters, Arya was able to stabilize the city by sheer force of will and rebuild an army that wasn't entirely loyal to her mother, instead, being only loyal to gold.

"Our food storage remains at a safe level, but I fear that will not last long. Without the other kingdoms to trade with, we have to fall back on our preserves to keep the men and the city fed." Syrio leveled with 'her grace.' "The common people are… not happy. They still do not respect you, whispering names like 'Queenslayer' behind your back."

"Let them make their remarks. Respect is earned and I will earn it in time. Varys?" She moved to her next council member. Varys frowned at 'his majesty.'

"Where to begin…"

"The south. Begin there." Arya ordered. Varys nodded.

"As you command. Dorne has declared independence from the Throne and now wages war against their neighbors in The Reach and The Stormlands."

"The Tyrells support us?" Arya questioned, shocked.

"Not quite, your grace. The people of The Stormlands and The Reach have come together to form… 'The Kingdom of the South.' They declared war on Dorne when the Kingdom refused to enter the fold, and they follow Queen Margaery Tyrell to battle. They also declared their independence, as well as recognizing The North's independence, and have most likely ally themselves with The Westerlands, who-"

"Who are at war with us. Yes, I know. Is there anyone who isn't trying to kill us?"

"Well, House Frey and House Tully have a bit of a civil war going on in The Riverlands, so they aren't attacking us. And both The Vale and The Iron Isles have decided to attack The Riverlands while the Lords fight."

"Have any of them declared themselves independent?"

"They all have, your grace." Queen Arya closed her eyes tight and sighed.

"I suppose that's what happens when you murder a man from every house in Westeros… And what of The North? Not that I don't know already."

"The North has declared its independence under Queen Myrcella Lannistark." Arya looked up from her hands.

"Lannistark… What House is that?"

"It is the slang, though now legitimized, name for the Stark-Lannisters that held Winterfell."

"Meaning they are against us." The room was silent as all contemplated on their situation. Syrio was the first to speak.

"If you don't mind me asking, my Queen, what are we to do?" Queen Arya sighed once more.

"These will be the bloodiest wars in history, and we sit in the middle of all of them. What we will do… We will do as any rightful ruler should do. We will attack, defend, strategize, plan. We will go to war. And we will not lose."

"And who will fight this war?"

" _Me_." The Queen declared.

"Your bravery is noted, my queen, but there is still a way to gain you more allies." Varys remarked.

"And how's that? I've already hired all the mercenaries willing and able, not to mention, recruited over half of the Crownlands male population."

"I don't just speak of an army, but of a political alliance. Perhaps through marriage." The Queen scoffed.

"Even if I wanted to marry, how could I? Have you forgotten that the majority of Westeros is ruled by Queens now, besides the Riverlands? And I can tell you right now, there is no way in the seven hells that I am marrying Walder Frey." Varys smiled at his Queen's assumptions. While Arya made her annoyance at the idea known, she hadn't outright denied the prospect.

"I do not speak of inside Westeros. I talk of a man that could single handedly legitimize your rule over Westeros, and give you and the Stark house tremendous respect. You never did get to meet my friends in Pentos. There, is a King waiting in arms, right under the eyes of Queen Daenerys."

"And who would this be?"

"Aegon VI Targaryen, your grace."

* * *

 **289 After Aegon's Landing** : First year of the Greyjoy rebellion. Stannis Baratheon is killed with his fleet. The first siege of Pyke fails.

 **290 AL** : Second year of the Greyjoy rebellion. Renly Baratheon is killed and the Twins are taken over by the Greyjoys.

 **291 AL** : Third year of the Greyjoy rebellion. Barristan Selmy dies taking back the Twins, carving the Path of Barristan through the Riverlands. The second siege of Pyke is a success and Prince Maron Greyjoy is slain by Eddard Stark.

 **292 AL** : A peace treaty is made and the war is officially over. In The Great Shift, King Robert Baratheon takes the name Stark and gives the crown to Eddard Stark.

 **293 AL** : Robert Stark dies of sickness.

 **294-299 AL** : Peace and prosperity in the Seven Kingdoms.

 **300 AL** : King Eddard Stark is killed and Robb Stark is presumed dead. Brandon Stark is named King at the age of twelve.

 **301 AL** : Jon Arryn dies of sickness and the Lannisters appoint Tywin as hand of the king. Robb makes it to Last Hearth. Joffrey is married to Sansa. The Lannister family moves into King's Landing.

 **302 AL** : King Bran commits suicide by throwing himself off the highest tower in the Red Keep. With no more rightful male heirs, Catelyn Stark takes the position as true Queen.

 **303 AL** : Princess Arya Stark is banished. Robb makes it to Hellholt.

 **304 AL** : Robb meets Ramsay Snow. The Purge of the Lannisters, or Purge of the Rats, occurs. Queen Catelyn Stark is killed and Princess Sansa Stark is presumed dead. Queen Arya Stark takes the Iron Throne.

* * *

 **So yeah, I did just rewrite this chapter for the third time. I won't apologize for it, but I will apologize for never managing to finish any of the other chapters that I planned for after this one. They'll be coming this time, I hope.**

 **And to all of you who are wondering where exactly all of my other current stories are now, RWBY: Infinity War chapter three is nearly complete, and New Game Plus will come after that. So don't panic.**

 **Until next time,**

 **-RMV**


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